


every breath you take

by evocates



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evocates/pseuds/evocates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is watching Sean, and it’s not Viggo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for helena_s_renn@LJ. She knocked on my virtual door in October, and I wrote this for her in January. Still earlyish!

**Part I**

“I’m starting to think that there’s a conspiracy amongst luggage makers,” Viggo started. He had his phone wedged between his neck and shoulder.

“Who the hell is this?” a voice growled. Viggo blinked, dropping his clothes into his luggage before he took hold of his phone and looked at it. He didn’t misdial; it was Sean’s number, showing up clearly on the screen.

“Sean?” he asked, tentative and a little confused. “It’s me. Viggo.”

“Vig. Christ,” Sean said, and he gave a heavy sigh. “Give me a heart attack, will you?”

Viggo sat down on the bed. The packing could wait. A few minutes ago he was laughing at himself for calling Sean when he would see him in three days, or even less, but now he was rather sure that calling his lover was a good decision to make. Sean sounded like he was panting. 

“Sorry,” he said. “What happened?”

“Someone broke in.”

“What?!”

“Weirdest thing in the world,” Sean muttered, and Viggo shoved his phone closer to his ear to hear him properly. “They just broke into me house and they didn’t take anything valuable. Well, except me watch…”

“Someone broke into your house?” Viggo knew he sounded stupid, repeating after Sean like that, but he couldn’t help it. Sean’s house was his haven just as much as Viggo’s ranch was his, and for someone to have broken in… He looked down, surprised at the sight of the clenched fist resting on his thigh.

“Yeah,” Sean said. His breath trembled, barely, and Viggo wished he had decided to travel a few days earlier so he could be right next to him right now.

“What did they take?”

“Me watch,” Sean said. “Jacket, some other clothes… A photo album, and uh…” Viggo could hear him licking his lips. “The laundry hamper.”

Viggo blinked. “Say that again?”

“Someone took me laundry, Vig,” Sean said.

“Why would they--”

“I don’t know!” Sean exclaimed so loudly that Viggo’s ear rang from the sound. “The police haven’t got the slightest clue who might’ve broken in. It’s fucking--”

“Weird. Yeah, I know,” Viggo rubbed his face. He held the phone away and took a long, deep breath. He was getting freaked out about this and he was an entire continent away. Viggo looked around himself, at his own bedroom in the ranch, and he wondered how he would feel if he came into his refuge realising that someone he didn’t know had broken in and had looked through his things.

His eyes landed on a few albums he kept at the side of his bed. Drawing a hand through his hair, Viggo inhaled and pressed the phone back into his ear.

“Vig, you still there?”

“Yeah,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “You said they took one of your albums? Is it--”

“It’s one of yours, yeah,” Sean sighed, and Viggo’s heart sank. “Not one of those with the dirty pictures, though,” Sean continued in a rush. “Those I keep in me safe.”

“You keep my albums in a _safe_?”

Sean laughed quietly, and the sound reassured Viggo even though his hand was still clenched by his side. “Aye,” he said. “Me girls come here pretty often, you know. I don’t want ‘em to see what their old dad is up to in his free time.”

“You’re not old,” Viggo countered. It wasn’t the point, but it was easier to fall back into old banter and arguments than to linger on the strange break-in that he couldn’t do anything about right now. 

“You tell that to me bones when it rains," Sean retorted. In the background, Viggo could hear the soft sound of porcelain clinking against porcelain. It was just like Sean to start drinking tea when he was freaked, and he sobered immediately when he realised just how unnerved Sean was.

“Look,” he said. “I’m coming over in a couple of days. If the police haven’t found the culprits by then, I’ll definitely help you figure out what’s happening.”

“Aye,” Sean sighed. “What time is your flight again?”

“You probably have a better idea than me,” Viggo chuckled. He stood up, going over to his wallet and finding the piece of paper where he wrote down all the flight details. “I’ll be landing at 2pm in Heathrow. I’ll be done with baggage and such in half an hour, I hope.”

“Nah,” Sean chuckled. “You’ll be landing at five. Think you copied down your flight information wrong, Vig. Either that, or you forwarded me the wrong email.”

Viggo blinked down at the piece of paper.

“I have absolutely no idea,” he admitted. “I might have written it down wrong....”

“Two looks plenty like five if you’re distracted,” Sean teased.

Viggo laughed. He walked back onto the bed and shoved his luggage to the ground, flopping on his back and feeling the cool sheets against his skin. “I’ll trust whatever you say,” he drawled. “You’ll be the one waiting for me, after all.”

“Should I wear an apron and be barefoot?”

The mental image flashed across Viggo’s mind, and he barked a sharp laugh, completely taken aback. “Nah, I don’t think pink is your colour.”

“Who says I’m going to wear pink?” Sean said, indignant. “There’s plenty of black aprons, you know.”

“But what’s the point of an apron if it doesn’t have frills on it?” Viggo countered.

There was a long silence before Sean started laughing, and Viggo smiled, curling into himself on the bed as he let the sound wash over him.

“You’re a sick, sick man.”

“Hey, you brought up the apron first.”

“But I didn’t mention frills,” Sean shot back.

“Anyway,” Viggo said, smoothly changing the subject, “if anyone is going to be barefoot, it’ll be me.”

“Don’t forget your shoes again, oy.”

“Is it called forgetting if I deliberately don’t wear them?”

“Nah,” Sean said, and he laughed again. “That’s called being an arse. And security might think you’re a terrorist.”

Viggo raised his eyebrow, feeling slightly ridiculous for doing so because he knew Sean couldn’t see it. “Would they, really?”

“Do you want to test your luck?” Sean, however, had no problems communicating his incredulity through his voice alone. Viggo laughed again. He reached further up the bed and grabbed a pillow, shoving it underneath his head. 

“Not really. They might stop me from seeing you.”

“We wouldn’t want that, aye?” Sean murmured. Viggo could hear the water being turned on, and cup and saucer being washed. He shifted a little bit on the bed.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Mm?”

“Call me if anything else happens, alright? It’s probably nothing and the police will probably have found the culprit by the time I get there, but call me anyway.”

“Worrywart,” Sean teased. “Aren’t I supposed to be the worrier here?”

“We can take turns,” Viggo pointed out.

Sean laughed, but it was a short chuckle, sounding more forced than anything. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll call you if anything happens.”

***

“Vig! Viggo, over here!”

Viggo looked up from where he was trying to fight against the wheels of his luggage. He would normally just bring a single duffel bag, but this time he brought with him his easel and canvasses and paints. Perhaps he could have bought some of them in Britain, but there were colours he found in Denmark that he couldn’t find elsewhere. He blinked at the sight of Sean, but before he could even raise a hand to wave he found himself being bowled over by arms wrapping around him.

“Sean,” he whispered, his face burying into Sean’s neck. He knew they should be more careful because there might be paparazzi around, but he didn’t give the thought more than a second’s worth. Sean was trembling.

“Hey,” he said, pulling away slightly to look into Sean’s eyes. “Hey, are you alright?”

“I was going to pick you with me car,” Sean said, and he pulled away, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “But then some bastards stole it.”

Viggo blinked, feeling his lips part but no words came out. “Someone stole your _car_?”

“Aye.” Sean looked away. He took the handle of Viggo’s luggage, fixing the wheels with one twist of his wrist before he started pulling at it. “Seems different bastards than the ones who broke into me house.”

He stopped, turning back to meet Viggo’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I keep talking to you ‘bout it and now I can’t even show it to you.” Licking his lips, he rubbed at his neck again. “Christ, it’s been a shite week.”

“I can tell,” Viggo said. His mind was already whirring. Didn’t Sean live in a good neighbourhood? Who the hell would break into his house and now take his car? Well, if he had an answer he would give it, but now he could only swing his arm onto Sean’s shoulder, pulling him close as they walked towards the entrance. Sean leaned against him slightly.

It was a little awkward, walking like this, but Viggo wasn’t going to let go for anything.

Sean nudged him gently on the side. “You’re not tired?”

“Nah,” Viggo replied. He flashed Sean a smile, and barely resisting kissing him right there in the middle of the airport. Instead, he brushed his fingers against the side of Sean’s mouth -- something that was far less than ideal, but acceptable while they were in public. “I slept on the plane.”

“Lucky bastard,” Sean chuckled. His free arm slipped around Viggo’s waist, pulling him close for a moment before he let go. “Why can’t I do that? Might make the damned trips pass faster.”

“Hmm.” Viggo pretended to consider the question. “I can sleep anywhere, so I don’t know what your difficulty with it is.”

Sean thumped him on the shoulder. They reached the doors of the airport by now, and Sean flagged down a cab. Viggo dumped his luggage into the boot. 

“C’mon,” Sean said, grinning at him over the hood of the car. “Let’s get you home, and I can shut you up nice and proper there.”

Viggo laughed. He dropped himself into the leather seat, sinking against it and lifting his feet. He stared at them for a moment, wriggling his toes, before he shot Sean a grin.

“Hey, look. I remembered to wear shoes.”

*

The cab drew up next to Sean’s place at Belsize Park, and Viggo looked at the house. It didn’t seem to have changed at all since the last time he had seen it, at least not from the outside, and yet he felt that it should have. There should be _some_ visible sign of the break-in that happened, but all he noticed was that the driveway was empty where there should have been a car. He shook his head hard, getting out of the cab even as Sean paid the driver.

He glanced over the house again, and he realised the letterbox was open. 

“Sean?” Viggo turned around.

“Yeah?”

“Did you forget to close your letterbox after you got your mail?”

Sean blinked. He froze suddenly before he licked his lips, a nervous chuckle escaping his throat. “What? I haven’t checked me mail today, and yesterday... I don’t remember.”

Viggo shrugged. It might just be a mistake of the postman or something. He walked over to the box and rummaged through it- there was just a single letter. The name and address was printed, and Sean dropped his arm over Viggo’s shoulder as he looked at it.

“Don’t look like bills,” he said.

“Are you expecting mail from anyone?”

“Nah,” Sean shrugged. “It’s probably some kind of spam or something. C’mon, let’s get into the house.”

The envelope was made of thick, good quality paper, and Viggo couldn’t help but doubt that it was spam. Didn’t spam usually come in thin-papered flyers? Maybe people did things differently in Britain, and Viggo grinned at the thought even as he followed Sean into the house. It would be something to tease Sean about, the prissiness of the Brits.

The thought froze in his mind when he saw Sean’s face. The envelope was torn open, and he was staring at something in his hands. Viggo dropped his luggage at the door, immediately moving over to Sean and wrapping his arms around him, tucking his head on the other man’s shoulder.

“What happened?”

Sean looked at him, his mouth parted but there were no words. He pulled away from Viggo’s embrace, walking over to the coffee table and dropping the letter and its contents on the wood.

“Look.”

Three pieces of paper. The first was a sketch of a man standing near a pillar, with doors behind him. He had a cigarette in his hand, and when Viggo picked up the piece of paper he felt a sickening feeling begin at the base of his stomach. It was Sean. 

His hand trembled slightly as he pushed the sketch aside. There was a Polaroid behind it, and Viggo recognised the jacket. It was Sean’s jacket, something he had worn plenty of times because it was comfortable. Viggo couldn’t help but remember when the first time their schedules took them away from each other in New Zealand, when he stole Sean’s jacket and held it next to himself to breathe in his scent.

“What--” he said, and he couldn’t even continue. 

“There’s something else,” Sean said, and Viggo dazedly noted the shakiness of his voice before he took the last piece of paper that was in the letter. It was a type-written note, its edges uneven, obviously cut inexpertly with a pair of scissors.  
 _  
I wonder how you look in this jacket_ , it read. _Just this jacket. Sometimes I dream about coming home and seeing you like this, waiting for me. Will you look at me the way I dream you would?_

Viggo dropped the paper like it was on fire. His fingers were nervous and he stared at his hands, watching them tremble with an almost scientific sort of curiosity. It wasn’t fear, he realised. It was rage, a sudden rage that was boiling up from the base of his stomach, bubbling upwards and choking his breath.

“It’s probably the bastard who broke into the house,” Sean said. 

The sudden sound was jarring. Viggo didn’t realise how absolutely silent the house was until Sean spoke, and he whirled around, looking at his lover. Sean’s face was absolutely white, his eyes fixed upon the note as if he was trying to make it disappear with just his eyes. Viggo’s hands moved even before his brain knew it, reaching out, pulling Sean into his arms and holding him tight, hugging him so hard that he could barely breathe.

“It’s probably one of those mad fans,” he murmured. “One of those who think you belong to them because they’ve watched all your movies and read all of your interviews, or something like that.” He buried his hand into Sean’s hair, turning his head and pressing a soft kiss behind a pointy-tipped ear. “I’ve met some of those and they’re scary when they talk to you, but they’re mostly harmless.”

“Don’t seem harmless,” Sean blurted out. His heart was racing beneath Viggo’s and Viggo could feel him trembling, could practically taste the fear coming off of him. “Christ, Vig, he broke into me house once, what if he does it again?”

_It won’t be clothes that will be stolen this time_ , Viggo heard the unspoken words loud and clear, and he clutched Sean even closer. Leaning back slightly, he cupped Sean’s jaw with his hands, crashing their mouths together. He was being selfish, he thought suddenly. He wasn’t kissing Sean to alleviate his fears, but to reassert Viggo’s claim over this man, kissing him because he knew the bastard who wrote this letter would never get to do this. No one else would have this response, with Sean’s mouth slowly opening beneath his own, Sean’s body turning pliable beneath his as Viggo took his mouth, claimed every single inch of it as he had been wanting to since he saw Sean at the airport.

“Vig,” Sean breathed, his body arching towards him, his fingers burying into Viggo’s hair. “Viggo, Christ, what are you doing?”

“I’ve been here for nearly an hour and you’re not paying enough attention to me,” Viggo said, and the words were supposed to be teasing, but they came out as a growl instead. He twisted his hand in Sean’s hair and pulled him back, barely realising that his own lips had drawn back and he had bared his teeth.

“Stop thinking about this,” he said.

“What?” Sean laughed shakily, but the fear was retreating from his eyes. “Are you going to be me knight in shining armour and protect me from the big bad wolf?”

Viggo chuckled. He wrapped his arms around Sean, pressing every inch of his body to the other man’s.

“No,” he said, his thumb tracing Sean’s lower lip. “I’m going to claim you until everyone who looks at you will know you’re used goods.” His grin widened. “ _My_ used goods, Sean.”

Sean darted out his tongue. He licked the thumb slowly, his gaze fixing upon Viggo’s.

“You sure you can do that?” His fingers were gentle on Viggo’s jaw before he tightened his grip, the tips digging hard into the skin. “Don’t try making promises you can’t keep, aye?”

The fear was gone from Sean’s eyes, Viggo noticed. They were burning now, with challenge and want, and there were no thoughts other than Viggo in his mind.

Nodding sharply to himself, Viggo pulled away. He kept his hand on Sean’s wrist, tightening his grip just slightly before he tugged him forward.

“I haven’t seen your bedroom in months,” Viggo said. “And I want to see you flat on your back on your bed.”

Sean laughed behind him, keeping in stride even as he mock-struggled against the grip. Viggo knew that if Sean really wanted him to stop, his ass would already be on the curb. But it was the kind of game they played with each other, the push-pull of power between the two of them. The violence between them was only a reassurance of what they meant to each other. No matter how much abuse Viggo dealt out, he knew that he could only do it because Sean allowed it; that it was only happening because of Sean’s permission, whether spoken or not.

Viggo wrestled Sean into the bed, pinning him down flat onto the black sheets. Sean’s hair was gold, shining in the red light of the approaching sunset, and Viggo stroked the strands slowly. Sean took his hand, turning it over and pressing a kiss to the underside of his wrist, his teeth grazing against the beating pulse before he bit down on the thin skin. There would probably be a bruise tomorrow, and Viggo felt giddy at the thought -- that he wouldn’t have to care about the marks either of them would carry from this night because neither of them had work right now.

There was no need to hide from makeup artists; no need for them to hide themselves and touch each other only in the dead of the night. Viggo was in Sean’s _house_ , with the curtains closed. The neighbours could mind their own business, and so could the bastard who had such an obsession with Sean.

He leaned over Sean’s body, urged by the arm tugging him down by the neck. Their lips met again, but this time the kiss was far gentler, more of simply touching while they breathed in each other’s exhales.

“You think he’s watching?”

For what seemed like the umpteenth time of the day, Viggo felt himself freezing. He blinked slowly before he pushed his hand against the mattress, lifting himself up just enough to look at Sean.

“What?”

“Do you think he’s watching us, right now?” Sean murmured, his lips curved up into a sharp smile. It was an expression Viggo was familiar with; he usually saw it just before Sean would slam him into a wall. But Sean didn’t try to do that right now. Instead, his fingers trailed the side of Viggo’s face, brushing against his small sideburns.

“Maybe he’s watching us with his long telescope.” The whisper crept along his skin, warming it and causing sweat to break out. Viggo tried to breathe. “Maybe he’s hoping that we’ll draw the curtains, so he’ll see.”

Tearing his eyes away from Sean’s with an effort, Viggo turned to look at the window. The curtains were drawn; Sean must have done that before he left the house. His breath shuddered out of him; his heart slammed into his throat. When the words came to him, he wasn’t even sure they came from his mind.

“I should draw the curtains back,” he said. “Give him a good show.”

“Aye.” Sean smiled, his finger trailing down Viggo’s throat. He thumbed the buttons open, one by one, each word punctuating the motion. “Let all of me neighbours see you fuck me open. That’s what you like, eh?”

“You’re the possessive one,” Viggo said, but he wasn’t paying particular attention to words now. Sean’s chest slowly being revealed as Viggo pulled off his sweater was far more enthralling. He particularly liked the tiny nipples, and he caught them between his fingers, twisting.

Sean arched off the bed, a soft moan echoing in his chest. 

“That so?” He arched his eyebrow, and Viggo felt almost indignant that he still had the capacity to do that. “Then why is it that I always go out looking as if I’ve been mauled by some beast?”

Viggo chuckled. Breathing in deep, he took in Sean’s scent. No matter how long he had been gone, it never seemed to change.

“Maybe I just like tasting you,” he said, and he did just that, stroking his tongue against Sean’s collarbone. Salt and something else he could never describe. Viggo hummed quietly underneath his breath, hands creeping down to unbuckle Sean’s belt. The man always wore too much, he thought, and he laughed again.

“You should mark me,” Sean said, and the idle tone of his voice was belied by the quickness of his fingers as he unbuttoned Viggo’s jeans, shoving them off of his hips. “Mark me so that when I go out tomorrow, the bastard will see you all over my skin.”

“Why are you still talking about someone else when I’m in your bed?” Viggo left the belt there, unzipping Sean’s slacks and pulling the whole thing off him. Sean arched again obligingly. 

“Might just be a clue to get you to hurry the fuck up,” Sean drawled. His hands cupped Viggo’s cheeks, calluses rubbing against the joint between hip and thigh. Viggo shuddered, and almost missed his next words. “Why, you didn’t wear underwear again.”

“Trying to keep my luggage light, you know,” Viggo shot back. He pulled away from Sean, kneeling on the bed as he dragged cloth over lightly-haired thighs. Sean came up with him, tugging Viggo’s shirt off. Viggo struggled, performing some kind of strange acrobatics as he tried to strip off his own jeans without having to stand up. The clothes ended up in a pile next to the bed. 

They looked at each other for a long moment, finally naked after months of not being able to see each other like this. Sean reached out for him, his fingers burying themselves in Viggo’s hair, and Viggo laughed again as their foreheads met.

“You still nervous?” Viggo whispered.

“Aye,” Sean said, his voice shaking very slightly. But he took a deep breath, and thumped Viggo on the shoulder. “Aren’t you going to distract me?”

“Oh, I am,” Viggo said, and he brushed their lips together. The barest of touches. “You want to talk now, or later?”

“How ‘bout ‘not at all’?” Sean sighed. He dropped back to the bed, stretching upwards, exposing himself. 

Viggo knew a diversionary tactic when he saw one, and he let himself fall forward. “Nope.”

“I’ve had crazy fans, you know,” Sean said. _Now_ , then. Viggo balanced himself on both hands, looking at him without talking. “Like you had. They still scare the shit out of me, though.”

“Yeah,” Viggo breathed.

“This one...” Sean bit his lip. Licked it. “This one’s bolder than the rest, that’s all it is, I know, but I just can’t help...”

“It’s scary,” Viggo whispered. “When they think you belong to them.”

“Aye,” Sean said. He carded his fingers through Viggo’s hair. “That’s the part I can’t stand.”

Viggo only nodded. What else could he do, when Sean already knew that he understood? It was Sean who calmed him down after he received mail from fans who sent him their dirty underwear, who went to every single public event he went to no matter the country, no matter how out of the way it was? It was everything that Sean had already heard before. 

“I can’t even explain it,” Sean sighed, rubbing a fist against his nose and lips. “And it’s fucking annoying me, how a fucking letter can scare the shit out of me when...”

“Yeah,” Viggo said. “I know.”

Sean made a frustrated sound. He looked at Viggo before he pulled him down again, kissing him hard, rocking his hips upwards to rub their bared erections and thighs together.

“Distract me.” _I don’t want to think about this anymore_ , Viggo heard.

He nodded, leaning in. His hands reached out, finding the familiar curves of Sean’s nightstand before he pulled over the drawer. The lube and condoms were in the place they always were, and Viggo took them out and offered them to Sean.

“Do you want to top?”

“Nah,” Sean said, biting his lip again as he looked to the side, at the blank wood of his wardrobe. “Later, aye, definitely. But not right now.”

There were more that needed to be said about this; even more that needed to be done. Perhaps they should have staved off their lusts for each other and called the police immediately, but right now, Viggo knew that Sean needed this -- that they _both_ needed this - far more than they needed solutions.

“Alright.”

Slicking up his fingers, he curled his free hand underneath Sean’s knee. Sean spread his legs without further urging, opening himself up for Viggo. This was what no one else would be able to have from Sean, Viggo thought viciously. No matter how much they wanted him, Sean wouldn’t give himself to anyone else like this. 

When he pushed into Sean it was as if everything since Viggo had started planning this trip to London was only a prelude, and he only came home when Sean was clenching tight and hot around him, when Sean’s hands were stroking his shoulders and back, over and over. The world narrowed down to heat, to pleasure, to the sight of Sean’s eyes, completely black with only the barest rim of green, to Sean’s mouth wet and swollen from Viggo’s own lips. Viggo thrust, his hips shoving inside, but the movement seemed to mean nothing until he wrenched a moan, then a cry, from Sean’s throat, until he could feel Sean’s chest shuddering underneath his hands from the sounds he was making, from his heavy pants.

Sean’s nails dug into flesh when Viggo thrust harder, their skin slapping together. Viggo shoved his face into Sean’s shoulder, teeth biting on any inch of skin he could reach. His hands pressed down hard on Sean’s thighs, holding them down, holding Sean open as he pushed into him, over and over, seeking to claim him with lips and teeth and cock in a way that he couldn’t outside this house, this bedroom.

His hand wrapped around Sean’s cock, and he bit down hard, tasting salt and metal on his tongue. Sean jerked underneath him, his voice hoarse as he whispered something incoherent. He shoved Viggo’s head up, looking at him for the barest moment before he slammed their lips together. Viggo’s lip was cut open, and the sudden, sharp pain was all it took before he came hard inside Sean, shoving himself as deep as he could go.

He closed his eyes as he breathed, feeling Sean’s rapid breaths against his skin.

“Have I distracted you enough?”

“Oh, aye,” Sean’s laughter was broken up by his panting. “You did a good job with that. I might just keep you.”

Viggo elbowed him as he pulled out, falling to the side. Sean immediately draped an arm over him, pulling him close, and Viggo laughed even as he tucked his head into Sean’s shoulder.

“That’s all I’m good for?”

“Part of it,” Sean teased. “Might be because you’re a pretty good cook. Make me breakfast tomorrow?”

“Only if you promise me that we’ll fuck in the shower first,” Viggo replied archly. He kissed Sean briefly, darting his tongue out to lick at the spot of blood on Sean’s cheek left behind by his own lips. “I’m still taking up to your word, mind.”

“Alright, alright,” Sean said, managing to sound amused and put-upon at the same time. “You’re demanding, that what you are.”

“Mm,” Viggo said, not even bothering to argue. He yawned, fingers walking slowly down Sean’s spine. 

“I thought you slept on the plane,” Sean said, sounding amused. His words were immediately contradicted by his yawn.

“Fucking you is exhausting,” Viggo shot back. It was a better answer for the situation than to tell Sean that the adrenaline and the torrent of emotions he felt about the strange letter had wrung him out, and the sex had only been the icing on the cake.

But it seemed he didn’t need to anyway, because Sean was looking into his eyes with a crooked smile that told Viggo he knew everything that he wasn’t saying. Viggo stroked his finger down Sean’s jaw, feeling the beginning of stubble, before he kissed him again.

Somehow, he fell asleep like that. With his hand against Sean’s neck, feeling his heart beat beneath his skin.

*

“What is it about you and checking your mail in the morning?” Viggo grumbled slightly. He was dressed far earlier than he expected, because Sean wanted to go out of the house to get his mailbox. It might only be a pair of Sean’s old sweatpants and a ratty, paint-stained t-shirt, but Viggo was nearly always naked when he woke up and the clothes chafed against his skin, just a little.

Sean shot him an amused look. “Habit, mate,” he drawled. “You could’ve stayed in the house, you know.”

Viggo only grinned, nudging Sean in the side. They only had less than a month together, and he would rather not waste a single moment of it. Especially right now when they were still addicted to each other, and he was taking in every single part of Sean. They would be tired of each other’s constant presence soon enough and they would need the space for themselves, but... not just yet.

He resisted swinging his arm over Sean’s shoulders to pull him close, instead choosing the more publicly acceptable option of walking just a little bit too close.

Sean reached over the fence of his house and opened the mailbox. Viggo took a moment to appreciate the perfect view that pose gave him of Sean’s back and ass, but only a moment, because Sean’s hands came away from the box with a whole lot of flyers, and another pale, thickly-papered envelope.

Viggo stared at it. He took the whole bunch of mail from Sean’s hands before Sean dropped it. They shared a glance, and Viggo stopped caring about propriety, stopped caring about the eyes on them before he grabbed Sean by the wrist, pulling him back into the house and shutting the door loudly behind them.

“We should go to the police,” Viggo said. He cupped Sean’s jaw with a hand, looking into his eyes. “Right now.”

“There’s no postmark, Vig,” Sean whispered, his words made almost inaudible by his shuddering breath. “The letter. There’s no postmark.”

“There might be fingerprints,” Viggo said, trying to exorcise the desperation from his voice. He couldn’t let Sean hear it; couldn’t let him know that he was just as terrified. “Or something else. At the very least they would put the investigation of the break-in higher up on their list, right?”

Sean wasn’t listening. Instead, he was staring at the letter in Viggo’s hand, and Viggo wanted to tear it to pieces, or to burn it, or do something so Sean would stop _looking_ at it.

“I want to open it,” Sean said. His eyes were burning with determination and a kind of bravery, neither of which hid the fear lurking behind. “I want to see what the bastard says this time.”

Viggo wanted to refuse, because he knew that no matter how either of them tried, whatever was inside the letter would cause fear, just like last night. But he also knew that if they didn’t open it, their imaginations would start conjuring up possibilities about what the letter might be, and that would be even worse.

“Okay,” he sighed. “We’ll open it.”

Sean nodded sharply, his hand clenching around Viggo’s arm as he dragged him over to the couch and coffee table in the living room. He didn’t let Viggo go even when they were seated, and Viggo dropped everything onto the table, shoving the flyers away.

“You want to do the honours?” Viggo asked.

Shaking his head, Sean licked his lips. He refused to look at Viggo, instead keeping his eyes down and staring at his own hands. “No, you do it.”

The gesture might not mean anything to someone who didn’t know Sean well, but Viggo did, and he knew that Sean was actively keeping himself from reaching out and touching the damned thing. Viggo nodded, his own hand squeezing Sean’s arm gently before he picked up the envelope and tore it open.

There were only two things inside this time. The first thing Viggo saw was a Polaroid. Inside was a familiar photograph, and Viggo felt his breath hitch as he recognised his own work. He had taken it in New Zealand, in the middle of a dark bar. It was Sean’s fingers, holding onto a cigarette, the smoke curling down to his wrist and nearly obscuring the watch he was wearing.

Below the photograph was the watch itself.

“You didn’t tell me he took Alec’s watch,” Viggo blurted out. 

“Aye,” Sean said. His arm had crept around Viggo’s waist, pulling him tightly close and nearly burying his face into Viggo’s shoulder. “He did that.”

Viggo took a long, shuddering breath. “Alright,” he said, and pushed the Polaroid away with a single finger. He didn’t want to touch it as much as he could, and for a moment he made-believe to himself that it was because he didn’t want to ruin the fingerprints. 

The note was type-written again. It would be too much to hope that it would be handwritten, Viggo supposed.  
 _  
Your hands would look so good tied up in leather. I would tie you up and make you scream my name until you forget everything else. Why don't you give up on that pansy artist already? You know he can't satisfy you. I dream of bending you over and fucking that beautiful arse.  
_  
Sean took a sharp breath beside him. Viggo looked down at his own hands, unsurprised to see how much they were trembling. He looked back at the note before he gathered the bunch of flyers and dumped them all on top of it, obscuring the words. He only wished he could erase them entirely from existence, from their own memories. Erased them until they were never written.

“Christ,” Sean said. He laughed shakily against Viggo’s neck. “The bastard ain’t got much imagination, does he?”

Viggo wasn’t fooled. Sliding a hand into Sean’s hair, he tipped his head up until he looked at him straight in the eyes.

“Let’s go to Idaho,” he whispered fiercely. He leaned in close enough that their foreheads touched and their breaths ghosted against each other’s cheeks. “Let’s go to my house. We’ll be safe there, and we’ll let the police deal with this bastard.”

Sean closed his eyes and turned away. Even before he spoke, Viggo already knew with a sinking heart what his answer would be.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“This is me house, Vig,” Sean pulled away, shaking Viggo by the shoulder. “I’m not going to let anyone chase me out of me own _home_. Especially not someone like... someone like _that_.”

“He knows about us,” Viggo said.

“Aye, I know,” Sean said, and he curved his fingers over Viggo’s cheek, rubbing his morning stubble with a thumb. “I ain’t going to give up or give in to him. He’s affected me enough already.”

Sean’s accent was getting stronger, and Viggo knew there was no way he could convince Sean otherwise about this. He had already made up his mind, and the strength of his emotions only reaffirmed his decision. Viggo closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Sean’s neck, feeling his heat underneath his hand.

“Besides,” Sean continued. “If I left he might come back here and take even more stuff, and I ain’t risking that.”

Viggo let out a shuddering breath, “You’re a hell of a stubborn bastard.”

“That I am,” Sean chuckled. He pulled away from Viggo for a moment, tilting his head up to look at him. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.”

“Are you kidding me?” Viggo blurted out immediately, incredulous. “Like hell am I going to leave. I came here to spend time with you, yeah? I’m not changing my plans.”

“Good,” Sean breathed. Viggo looked down and took Sean’s hands into his own, straightening the fingers and stroking the palm to stop the mild trembling.

“I’ll make breakfast, and we’ll go to the police,” he told Sean’s hand. “If they can’t do anything, we’ll figure out a way to find this bastard ourselves.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the organised one,” Sean said.

Viggo shrugged, “Well, sometimes I don’t like predictable. It won’t be a good thing if you get bored of me, will it?” 

Sean kissed him briefly, “Aye.” He tugged on his hand as he stood up. “C’mon then.”

Viggo followed him to the kitchen. At the doorway, he stopped, looking back at the pile of papers on the coffee table. He hoped they wouldn’t have to burn the table after they found the stalker -- he liked the table.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viggo figures something out, and somehow it makes everything worse.

**Part II**

No matter how thick the curtains were, sunlight always found a way to break through the cloth. Or at least, the heat and humidity of London’s summer would find its way into the room and give Viggo enough excuse to pretend to wake up. He opened his eyes, pushing himself up on his elbow to look at Sean.

“Did you sleep?” Viggo reached out a hand and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Sean’s eyes. The question was redundant, really: he knew that Sean hadn’t slept, just as he hadn’t. He just wanted to know if they would be continuing with the masquerade they were putting on throughout the night. 

“No,” Sean said, turning around. There were shadows drawn deep underneath his eyes, and the wrinkles at the side of his lips were grooved deeper than ever. “Neither did you, I know that.”

“Yeah,” Viggo said. “What were you thinking?”

“Lots of things.” Sean gave him a brief smile. “What the police said, mostly.”

They went to the station yesterday, right after breakfast. They brought the letters but the police had their hands tied -- they couldn’t do much until the stalker actually made an appearance, and only then would they be able to give a restraining order. They took the letters anyway to try to fingerprint them, though that would take time and the officer said that they might not do anything. Viggo had wanted to rage so badly, but they couldn’t, not if they wanted to keep their cover to being ‘just friends’ and to have the officers believing their lies that there was no truth in what the letters said.

He didn’t want to have to wake up this morning with the tabloids blaring out about a relationship that they had no business knowing. But right now, looking at Sean and knowing that they both hadn’t slept, he wondered if it was worth it.

Sean leaned in and kissed him softly. Viggo made a muffled sound, a routine protest against the morning breath they both had despite still not sleeping, but he wanted the comfort of Sean’s touch more than anything else right now.

“Stop thinking,” Sean murmured against his mouth. “I can hear you.”

“I’m not saying anything,” Viggo said, but he couldn’t help but smile. This, too, was familiar.

“Alright. You tell me what you’re thinking ‘bout all through the night then.”

“Plenty of things,” Viggo said, and he closed his eyes, shifting on the bed to get nearer to Sean until their bodies were plastered together, uncaring about sweat and humidity. “I was just thinking that I’ve imagined doing so many things with you. I wanted to categorise every smile you have, every one you would give me. I wanted to paint in your garden, looking at your work. But now I have no inspiration whatever, and neither of us feel like smiling.”

“I’m sorry.”

Viggo’s eyes snapped open, and he grabbed Sean’s jaw, staring fiercely into green. “No,” he rasped. “No, it’s not your fault. Don’t even start thinking that it’s your fault.”

“It’s hard not to,” Sean turned away, biting his lip. “Maybe we should’ve gone to Idaho.”

“What happened to not giving up?” Viggo asked. He pulled Sean back to face him. “I was also thinking of ways of not letting this bastard ruin everything for us. Things we can do.”

“I want to have you.” Sean kissed him again, a fleeting thing. “But I’m terrified. What if he’s watching? What if he knows and tells everyone? We’ve kept this secret for so long, Vig.”

“Do you want that to change?” Viggo held his breath. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to ask _Do you want to come out?_ instead.

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Viggo said. “I’m tired as hell so I probably won’t last as long as you’d want me to, but I want to have you too.”

“I didn’t sleep either,” Sean drawled. He pushed himself up and crawled over until he was on top of Viggo, leaning over him with his tangled hair falling down. Viggo reached up and stroked his fingers through the strands, neatening them slightly before Sean leaned in to kiss him. Sex in the morning was always easier, because neither of them wore anything to bed, and when Viggo rocked his hips upwards he felt Sean’s slowly-growing erection slide against his thigh.

“Like this,” Viggo gasped, his voice muffled against Sean’s mouth. “Like this is just fine.”

“Aye,” Sean breathed. He dropped his head onto Viggo’s shoulder, his hand wrapping around both of their erections as they rocked gently against each other. They were both dry still, but it was alright, it was fine, because Viggo could feel his arousal building and soon there would be enough pre-come from the both of them to make this easier.

Right now he just wanted to feel Sean’s body pressing down on his own, Sean’s calluses on his cock, and Sean’s breath as it grazed his skin.

Viggo whispered a word, maybe Sean’s name, and he wrapped his arm around Sean’s neck, fingers burrowing inside his hair. He kissed him again as they moved together, minute little movements, and he could feel Sean’s breaths quickening against his skin. Viggo’s exhaustion seemed to fade slowly, like a stone being worn away by the river, and he arched hard, slamming his hips upwards as he felt pre-come finally, finally slicking their cocks.

“Vig,” Sean murmured, and there was nothing that was better than hearing Sean’s voice, thick with arousal, saying his name. 

Eyes sliding shut despite his best intentions, Viggo turned his head, brushing his lips against Sean’s hair. “Sean,” he whispered back. “Nngh!”

Sean chuckled, so close to his ear that Viggo shivered all over, gasping hard. 

“You close yet?”

“Almost,” Viggo gasped, straining to thrust harder. His hand slipped down to wrap around Sean’s fingers, clenching hard. “Nearly... there.”

“So quick, old man?” Sean laughed again, stroking them together even faster.

Viggo grinned, eyes still closed. Their thighs slid together, slick with sweat. “I warned you,” he said, and his voice quavered nearly enough for the words to be inaudible.

“That you did.”

Sean growled, low and rough. His free hand closed over Viggo’s hip, thrusting forward so hard that Viggo slid up the bed towards the headboard. A small, strangled noise vibrated the air around them, and Viggo wasn’t sure it was he or Sean who made it, because he was shoving his hips up, thrusting up to their joined hands. Reaching out blindly, he closed his other hand around Sean’s wrist, pulling it up, linking their fingers together as they slammed hard onto the bed. Around them, wood and bedsprings creaked, the sound echoing around the silent and dark room. Sean slammed their mouths together, swallowing his cry just as Viggo’s mouth swallowed his as they came together, warm wetness coating both of their skins.

“You’re going to be the death of me, that’s the truth of it,” Sean panted, his words ghosting across Viggo’s skin, painting itself on his flesh.

“It’ll be a mutual death,” Viggo laughed. He brought their linked hands up, kissing the back of Sean’s knuckles. “Even worse, you’ve made me all sticky.”

“Shower then,” Sean decided. He climbed out of bed, but before he could move away, Viggo grabbed him by the wrist. Viggo stood up quickly, sliding his cleaner hand into Sean’s hair, kissing him on his lips, then on both cheeks, and finally on his forehead and temples.

“There,” he grinned. “Now we can go.”

Sean raised an eyebrow. “A benediction from my King?”

“Maybe,” Viggo walked off into the bathroom. Then he stepped out again, grabbing two towels. Sean was still standing naked next to the bed, staring at him quizzically.

“I’m thinking it’s more of a keepsafe charm, really,” he admitted.

Sean didn’t laugh, instead nodding, his lips a grim line. 

“Let’s hope it works, then.”

*

It didn’t.

“The bastard’s getting bolder,” Sean said. Dressed in only a bathrobe, he stared at the letter on the floor. It was obviously slipped in just underneath the door.

Viggo resisted the urge to pull open the heavy wood and kick the letter outside. Unlike the others, there wasn’t a type-written piece of paper pasted to the front with Sean’s address. The stalker wasn’t even pretending to have used the post anymore. He narrowed his eyes at the letter, and briefly wondered how it was that something so small could cause all much fear.

“It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing,” Sean whispered, his breath shaking. “Such a little thing.”

Turning around, Viggo stared, and he didn’t know if he was more surprised that Sean seemed to be able to know his thoughts, or that he could remember his lines from so long ago.

“It’s a pity we’re not in New Zealand right now,” Sean continued, wrapping his arms around himself. “Maybe I’d have turned in a better performance for Boromir, now that I know…”

“Shh,” Viggo hushed him. He walked over, wrapping his arms around Sean and holding him close. “We’re not giving up, remember? We’re not letting him win.”

Sean’s arms came around him, holding him so close that Viggo could barely breathe. He was shaking again, and Viggo hated this, hated that he could spend nearly an entire day calming Sean down and easing his fear, yet another letter would come in and cause Sean to be afraid all over again.

Cause both of them to be afraid again.

“Open the letter, Vig,” Sean said, his voice hoarse against Viggo’s shoulder. “Open it. Me mind’s running all over ‘bout what might be inside this time, and I want it to stop.”

Viggo didn’t want to let go. The stalker came too close this time. He was right outside their door, and he had broken in once before. This time, Viggo wasn’t afraid that he would take more of Sean’s things; he was terrified that he would somehow manage to take Sean himself. He took a deep breath and told himself that he was being stupid and unreasonable, and he stepped back, pulling away from Sean, before he bent down to take the letter.

The smooth, thick paper felt abhorrent to his touch. Viggo wondered if he would be able to choose the paper to use for his Perceval Press publications without thinking of this again, and he gritted his teeth and decided that he wasn’t going to let one bastard ruin his damn life.

He tore open the flap holding the envelope close, standing up and upending the thing over at the coffee table. Flipping the Polaroid up, he made to place it over the note, but the photograph stopped him dead.

The picture was that of Sean’s window. The curtains were closed, but it was unmistakeably Sean’s bedroom window. Beside him, he could hear Sean take a long, shuddering breath. Viggo reached out blindly and grabbed Sean’s hand, pulling him even closer and holding on tight.

Placing the Polaroid gently down onto the table, Viggo turned the note over.

_I wish that you'd open the curtains. Sometimes you'll walk around in just a towel and I'll watch you. I've never wanted to be a droplet of water until now.  
_  
“I haven’t done that in-” Sean’s breath choked in his throat. Viggo heard him swallow, his own eyes fixed upon the note still.

“Months. I haven’t done that in months.”

Viggo knew what Sean was thinking. He bent down and picked up the Polaroid again, turning it in his hand, looking at it from side to side.

*

“You’re mad,” Sean panted, his strides speeding up as he tried to catch up to Viggo.

“I can’t wait for the police to finish their investigation,” Viggo said, his lips pressed into a line. He was holding onto the latest Polaroid nearly hard enough to crinkle the paper. Turning back, he slowed himself down slightly. “Besides, I’m a photographer, and this is a clue.”

“I still ain’t getting that bit,” Sean fell into step with him, blinking as he gave him a raised eyebrow.

“Angles,” Viggo replied shortly. He turned around, looking at Sean’s house for a long moment.

“He won’t still be there, you know,” Sean said. Rubbing the back of his neck, he added, “’Least, I don’t think he’d be.”

“But we can ask questions and try to figure out where he took it from,” Viggo said -- reasonably, he thought. “I mean, I’m not holding out on the luck that we’ll find the _house_ that he lives in with just one picture, but at least we’ll know where he goes to.”

“And avoid it?” Sean suggested, but he laughed almost immediately. “Of course not. We aren’t going to be running away, aye?”

“Watching the watcher,” Viggo quipped, shaking his head. “Or something of that sort.”

While they walked, Viggo realised that he knew too little about Sean’s neighbourhood. Strange, really; Viggo knew almost all of his own neighbours, back in Idaho. Maybe, he thought, smiling, it was because he spent most of his time _in_ the house instead of out of it, and when they weren’t holed up in Sean’s bedroom or garden, they took the car further out to London, where they would be anonymous.

Sean was quiet next to him, walking with his hands shoved into his pockets and his head down. Like this, he would look like a shy fan trying to look for his idol’s house if not for the fact that he was dressed too casually for it. Viggo had shoved clothes into his hands and barely remembered to change out of the bathrobe himself before he had started on this quest.

“There,” Viggo said, squinting as he looked upwards. The sun was almost at its zenith at it point, but he was rather sure that it was right over there -- at the coffee shop a street over Sean’s, hidden neatly behind two great houses.

“This seems all a bit convenient, don’t it?”

Viggo blinked, “What?”

“I mean,” Sean licked his lips, rubbing his neck. Two times his usual nervousness, Viggo noted, but he didn’t say a word, letting Sean continue. “Can’t help but think that- the bastard might be leading us here, you know what I mean? That he’s probably ‘round here somewhere right now, watching us through his camera lenses.”

Viggo reached over, uncaring about his surroundings as he cupped Sean’s jaw with both hands. He gave him a loud, smacking kiss, leaning their foreheads together.

“Are you going to let the fear of what he might be doing stop you -- stop _me_ \-- from finding him?” His voice had dropped to a growl, and he shook Sean slightly. “Or do you not remember that it was you who told me that you don’t want to go to Idaho, that you’re not going to give up? We’re going to _find_ him, Sean--”

“And if he’s watching us, all the better,” Sean finished for him. He sighed, pulling away from Viggo’s grip and rubbing his neck again. “Christ, I know. It’s just hard to believe it right now when me skin’s all jittery like I’ve got ants running all over it.”

“Well,” Viggo said reasonably. “If you keep moving, all of the ants will fall off.”

Sean smacked him on the back of the head. “I’m talking metaphorically, you arse.”

Viggo knew that, but he said what he had because of this -- because of the way Sean was laughing now, his head tossed back, blond strands catching the light. There was nothing more he wanted to do right now than to pull Sean into some back alley and fuck him until he screamed; until everyone in Belsize Park realised that he was taken and Viggo wasn’t letting go of him.

Instead, he swung an arm around Sean’s shoulder, pulling him close and brushing a swift kiss into his hair.

“C’mon, then,” he said, smiling against Sean’s skin. “Let’s go into the shop and see where our stalker has been.”

*

Viggo’s instincts were usually dead-on accurate when it came to photography. More than two decades had passed since he had picked up a camera and started taking photographs of everything he saw -- Viggo knew what he was doing. But right now... he wished he was wrong. 

He put his hand on the table, looking outwards. The coffee shop was one street back and two houses up the street, and Sean’s house could barely be seen. But here, on the very edge of the terrace and with a camera that could zoom... Viggo looked at the Polaroid, and wondered if it was a Polaroid at all.

“Here, huh?” Sean pulled out a chair, dropping down. His eyes were fixed down the road, to his own house. Viggo glanced at him, and nodded.

“Yeah.”

He dropped down to the other chair. Why hadn’t he noticed this before? His fingers nudged at the side of the photograph part of the Polaroid, and when the edge came off from his light touch, he wished he could say that he was surprised. He felt the white edges of the fake Polaroid.

Heavy white photo paper. The photograph too... Viggo held it to the light.

“What is it?” Sean asked.

“He developed this himself,” Viggo murmured. He turned the photograph over and over in his hand -- there were no identifying markings of any shop used to develop the photograph. “More than that, he’s _good_ at it; good enough to distort the quality of the photograph before he prints them out.”

He could feel Sean’s eyes on his skin. “English, Vig. Not Photo Language.”

“I mean that he owns at least one professional lens,” Viggo said, gritting his teeth as he looked up. “You can’t zoom in with a Polaroid camera, but you can with a professional one. But he’s making us believe that it’s a Polaroid by sticking these two together.” He waved the white paper and the photograph in his hand. “Then he develops the photograph ‘wrong’, so the quality looks as crappy as a Polaroid would.” He took a deep breath.

“But angles don’t lie, Sean,” he continued, quietly. “He was sitting here. He took the photograph here.”

“Think there might be a reason why he chose this spot,” Sean said. He was staring at his hands.

Viggo blinked at him. He dropped the dismantled not-Polaroid onto the table, pulling his chair even closer.

“Yeah?”

“Aye,” Sean sighed. He rubbed his face rapidly. “Christ. I, uh. Last year- more than a year only, before I left for Malta, I came here for coffee. I lost me keys here, that time.”

Viggo stared at him.

“Sean, a story has a beginning, a middle, and an end,” he said, lips quirking up in involuntary amusement. “

Sean shot him a dirty look and he sighed, rubbing at his mouth. “Alright, let me try again. I come here for coffee and breakfast sometimes - it’s a nice place, and real close by at that, and people here, they leave you alone. I like that. But I don’t come here much anymore, ‘cause... last time I came, I brought me keys with me. I had ‘em on the table, this very table,” he tapped the wood for emphasis, “and I left it there. There ain’t a single person on the whole second level, so I thought, what the hell, and I left ‘em there for a bit while I went to order more food.”

He stopped. Swallowed.

“When I came back, the keys were gone. Just me keys, mind. Me coffee’s fine, and so’s me phone. Everything’s perfect. It’s just the keys.”

Viggo took a long, slow breath. He blinked, and tugged at his ear. 

“What did you do next?”

“I thought it odd. I asked the staff and no one saw anything. No one even knew who went up here, you know what I mean? Ground level’s pretty busy at the time with people working normal working hours. No one saw a thing, so I said, what the hell. It gave me a bad feeling, but there ain’t anything I could do. So I went home and I called the locksmith. Changed all the locks. Changed even me locks on the car, even though I didn’t bring that with me.” A small laugh burbled out of him, and Viggo reached out, taking Sean’s hands into his own. He rubbed the fingers gently between his palms, warming them.

“Something else happened?”

“Couple of weeks later, I found me keys.” Sean swallowed. His hands twitched convulsively, wrapping around Viggo’s fingers. “In me mailbox.”

Over a year ago.

“You know what I think?” Viggo said to Sean’s hands. 

“Might as well just say it. You always gave your opinion, whether I want them or not.” Sean tried to smile, but even the old joke fell flat between them. He took a shuddering breath. “Hit me with it.”

“I’m just thinking... it’s obvious that he has some money, you know? You need the money for a dark room, for camera lenses... you need money for the kind of envelopes that he uses, because they’re of a damn good quality.” Viggo’s own fingers were trembling by now, but he took a long, deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Plus if they know you come here often, and if the staff didn’t think it’s someone worthy of note, he must be someone who is familiar to them. Who comes here just as often as you do.”

“Don’t say it, Vig,” Sean said, desperately. “Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it.”

Viggo couldn’t help himself.

“He probably lives here. In Belsize Park.”

“Fuck.” Sean grabbed hold of Viggo’s collar, pulling him forward and shoving his face into his neck. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck you_ for saying it, Vig. I can’t--” He was shaking all over, his hands clawing at Viggo’s arms, trying to find a grip even as Viggo grabbed hold of both, holding them tight to his chest.

There were no possible words for him to say. Viggo had -- _might_ have -- narrowed down where he should search, but he wasn’t anywhere close to finding anything. Only possibilities hovered in front of him, and he had managed to terrify both of them. He could barely hear Sean’s short, panting breath over the roaring of his own ears.

“Let’s go home,” Viggo rasped, his hand wrapping around Sean’s shoulders. “Let’s go back.”

Sean pulled away from him. They stared at each other for a long moment before Sean nodded sharply. Viggo grabbed for the Polaroid, and Sean stood up.

His keys jingled where they were shoved into the pocket of his jeans. Sean’s eyes dropped down, staring at the source of the sound before he pulled them out and gripped them tight.

“Once we catch this bastard,” he growled. “I’m going to force him to pay for me therapist fees.”

Viggo didn’t laugh, not even at the idea of Sean visiting a therapist when he had been denying that they did any good. He only grabbed Sean by the arm, pulling him towards the staircase to go down to the first level.

They were going back to where doors could lock.

*

Viggo slammed the gate closed, and Sean’s fingers were steady as he locked it. They exchanged a look again before he picked up the heavy padlock that was almost never used, balancing it on the metal gate, and locked that. Viggo slammed the door shut, turned the knob, and practically threw Sean onto the wood.

“He’s not going to have you,” he breathed, one hand cupping Sean’s jaw, stroking his cheek. “I won’t let him.”

“I won’t let him either,” Sean snapped back. He threw himself forward, their lips crashing together even as Sean’s hands tangled into Viggo’s paint-stained shirt. There was fire here, in each of their touches, a heat that seemed to be anger but with a far colder centre.

It was fear. They were terrified, both of them; fearful and angry at themselves, at each other, for being afraid, because the culprit was far away from them. The watcher who couldn’t be watched. Viggo shivered, shoving forward to press Sean even further into the wall.

“Maybe we should leave the country,” Viggo said, his lips curling up into a small, uncertain smile. “Maybe we should’ve left for Idaho days ago.”

He knew those wasn’t the words he was supposed to say; knew that he should reassure Sean that they would be safe here, in his very own house.

“No shit,” Sean laughed, leaning forward and touches their foreheads together once more. “I think it’s too late, though. We’ll have to stick it out here.”

“Have to?” Viggo raised an eyebrow.

Sean closed his eyes, his sigh heavy enough to blow a few strands of Viggo’s hair into his face. “I want to,” he murmured, barely loud enough to be heard. “I’m not going to be chased out of me own country, me own _house_.”

Viggo looked at him, and he wondered all over again what he had done in a past life to deserve this man. He stroked Sean’s lips with his thumb, and grinned.

“You want to fuck with him, then? Tell him that he won’t ever have you, no matter how long he follows you, or whatever that he might do?”

Eyes snapping open, Sean stared at him for a moment before he cocked his head to the side. Viggo stroked his cheek gently, leaning in until his teeth grazed the shell of Sean’s ear.

“Let’s go up to the bedroom,” he breathed. “Open up the curtain.” His hand travelled down Sean’s side, mouth moving downwards to Sean’s neck, feeling the heart beating hard and fast beneath his teeth.

“I want you to ride me,” he growled. “Ride me until the bastard can see. Until he _knows_ that you’re mine.”

Sean’s eyes flashed, and it was the only warning Viggo had before he was shoved hard into the door, Sean’s hands squeezing his shoulders nearly hard enough to bruise.

“I don’t belong to you either, Vig,” Sean drew out each and every word, his accent thickening and lengthening the syllables until his voice caressed instead of spoke. “But alright. We’ll do things your way, eh?” 

Viggo peeled himself off the wall as Sean stepped backwards. He followed him to the stairs, stopping at the bottom, and raised an eyebrow.

“Because I want you to?”

Sean snorted, not even pausing as he took the stairs two at a time.

“No, because I want you to.”

*

Benefits to having the windows open: the light shining on Sean’s hair as he pushed himself up. The sunlight skimmed over the skin as strong thighs flexed, catching the tiny little golden hairs that would have remained hidden from Viggo’s sight otherwise. His hands flattened out against the muscles, and Viggo moaned quietly as he leaned back against the pillows.

“Thought you wanted him to see this,” Sean grunted as he slowly, slowly guided Viggo’s cock inside him. Hair fell over his eyes as he threw his head back, groaning softly. Heat closed over Viggo, the pleasure so intense and welcome that he almost missed the next words.

“You don’t want him to hear this as well?”

Viggo couldn’t help himself. He gasped sharply, thrusting his hips up, burying himself completely inside Sean, nails digging into skin. It was the sudden shot of fear, right at the base of his spine, at the thought that the stalker was so near that he could hear them if they were just a little bit louder.

He looked at Sean, and wondered if he should have checked for cameras. No, there couldn’t be, but his fingers tightened even further at the thought, holding Sean close, refusing to let him go.

“There you go again,” he smirked, panting out the words. “Thinking of another man when you have my cock up your ass.”

Sean laughed. His arms slammed onto the headboard besides Viggo’s head as he pushed himself up and sank down again. 

“So you say. What are you going to do ‘bout it, eh?”

Viggo’s hands closed around Sean’s hips, nudging him upwards, shifting slightly, and when Sean sank down again he drew in a sharp breath, the sound entirely muffled by Sean’s sudden, pleasured cry.

“This,” he said.

“You gotta try harder than that,” Sean grinned, a vicious little thing. He leaned in close, his mouth brushing against Viggo’s, and it was so easy for Viggo to take it, to kiss him and dart his tongue inside, stroking against his teeth, mapping his mouth all over again.

“You know what I want to do?” Viggo said, his tone conversational if not for the thick strand of arousal and want woven into it. “I want to push you down to the bed and fuck you until you scream so loudly that the walls shake from it.” He rocked his hips upwards, hard. “I want to take you until your entire body shakes and you can’t talk or think except of me, all your smart little remarks gone.” 

His mouth moved down, nipped against Sean’s jaw.

“But I can’t, you see,” he continued, thrusting into Sean in short, minute little jerks with every word. “I can’t, because then that bastard won’t be able to see you. He won’t be able to see you while you moan like a whore with your ass split by my cock,” he chuckled, hands tightening against Sean’s hips. They moved together in tandem - Sean up, Viggo back, and together, a hard slam that had their skin slapping obscenely loud in the near-silent house. 

“I want him to see it.”

Sean’s eyes were dark again, pupils dilated by desire, his lips wet with their combined spit. Viggo rubbed against the lower one and Sean drew his thumb into his mouth, biting down hard.

“G’on,” he murmured. “Keep going.”

Viggo obeyed. “Maybe we should be nice, considerate souls and put a camera,” he said. “Right there, against your wardrobe. Capturing every sound, every shift of expression you have that he can’t see because the windows are still closed, aren’t they?” Fingers stroked down the arch of Sean’s spine, and their bodies were slapping together faster and faster now, Viggo’s words barely keeping coherence as they were distorted by his panting. “Maybe we should invite him here, let him man the camera. It’ll be the closest he’ll ever get to you, won’t it?”

“That depends.” Sean licked his lips, the gesture made obscene by the look in his eyes. “Touch me, Vig.”

Shifting, Viggo’s hand closed around his cock, stroking him roughly, in perfect tandem to his thrusts upwards. 

“I’m not surprised that he wants you,” he hummed. The words were coming from somewhere else now, because his brain was surely not up to the complex tasks of forming them. Maybe it was his heart -- but more likely, it was from further south.

“You’re so beautiful, Sean.” His thumb stroked over the slit of Sean’s cock, gathering the wetness there before he slipped down underneath the foreskin, rubbing against the precise spot underneath it, just like Sean liked it. “So fucking beautiful like this. Should really have a camera, really. One of those retina ones, but then I’ll have to blink, and I don’t want to miss a single second.”

Sean only moaned in reply, arching his back and offering himself so freely to Viggo. No one else would have this, Viggo thought. Not this vulnerability, this trust, and his other hand left Sean’s hip and pinched first one nipple, then the other.

“Are you close?”

“Aye,” Sean whispered. “Aye. Almost--”

Viggo didn’t let him finish. He jerked to the side, shoving Sean down onto the bed. Sean let him, grunting softly, but he spread his legs further and Viggo took it as an invitation, grabbing hold of strong, golden-skinned thighs. He pushed them open and pushed in, his eyes riveted to the spot where they joined and came apart, over and over, as his hips pistoned. Sean arched, his hand moving down, but Viggo batted it away and wrapped his fingers around Sean’s cock, pumping it with his fist.

“Vig,” Sean moaned. “ _Vig_ , I’m going to--” He broke off, panting, his hands grabbing Viggo’s jaw and dragging his head up until their eyes locked.

“Come for me, Sean,” Viggo said. He thrust in again, as deep as he could go, before he pulled back out until he was almost entirely bereft of Sean’s heat, and slammed in all the way. His hand, without needing command, twisted the head of Sean’s cock.

Sean arched again, his hands digging into Viggo’s skin, and their lips crashed together. Viggo drank in his shattered cry, felt Sean’s insides clench down hard on him, strangling the breath in his lungs. Come splattered over his hand, over both of their stomachs, and Viggo pushed down Sean down even more as he fucked into him, mindless now, incapable of all sounds except for the minute little grunts that he couldn’t help.

“C’mon, Vig,” Sean’s said, muffled against his jaw. “C’mon now.”

Viggo grunted, his hips thrusting in, shoving inside as much as he could before he came. Came so hard that orgasm was ripped from his insides and he stopped breathing entirely for a few seconds, barely feeling Sean’s hand as it stroked down his back, over and over again.

Moments, maybe minutes, later, when he could breathe again, Viggo looked up from where he was draped over Sean’s body. His hand trembled as he pushed a stubborn, sweat-stroked strand away from Sean’s face.

“If he’s watching, I don’t want him to see you come,” he said, feeling as if he had to explain himself somehow.

Sean only laughed at him, a deep chuckle Viggo could feel reverberating in his chest. 

“D’you think he got the message?”

“I don’t know how we can might it clearer,” Viggo said, wry. Levering himself off Sean, he shifted naked over to the nightstand, grabbed a bunch of wet wipes. The curtains caught his eyes, and Viggo stood up, walking over to the window.

He should have brought his camera and lenses instead of his easel and paints this time. Frowning to himself, he yanked the curtains shut, cutting off the sunlight, and turned back to the bed.

Sean looked at him. His legs were still parted, casually lewd with come decorating the inside of his thighs. Viggo nearly tripped over his own feet as he fell back to the bed. Without saying a single word, Sean took his still-sticky hand, lifting it up and drawing the fingers into his mouth, cleaning him off with his lips and tongue.

“Once we find the bastard, I’m going to want to kill him,” Sean said, letting Viggo’s hand drop from his grasp as he reached for the wipes. “Our damned vacation together is ruined, eh?”

Viggo shook his head, “Not quite.” He swiped the wipe down Sean’s torso, cleaning him off, even as Sean did the same to him. “Think of it as a learning experience?”

“You’re mad,” Sean declared, but he was grinning, laughter barely hidden by the corners of his eyes. He dragged Viggo close, kissing him gently before he slumped back down on the bed. 

Dropping down beside him, Viggo tucked his head into Sean’s shoulder, fingers tracing the lines of his chest, feeling his steadying heartbeat. “We should get some food,” he said.

“We can do that later.” Sean stretched, tugging Viggo even closer. “I’m going to sleep, and you’re going to sleep next to me. No arguments.”

“Yes sir.” Viggo tried for a soldier’s salute, but it was ruined by his yawn. Sean laughed next to his ear, his hand trailing through Viggo’s hair.

The door was locked, he thought fuzzily. It would be fine. No one would be stealing Sean from him today.

*

The bed shifted. Viggo immediately swung an arm out blindly over Sean, but Sean was--

“Shhhh,” Sean’s voice whispered in his ear. “Go back to sleep. I’m just going to get something to eat.”

“Hungry at midnight?” Viggo cracked an eye half-open.

Sean chuckled, his green eyes luminous. It was dark -- night must have fallen at some point when they were sleeping. “Aye. Someone forgot to feed me.”

Viggo laughed, grabbing for Sean’s pillow and shoved his face into it. “Come back soon,” he murmured, voice muffled by the pillow.

“I will,” Sean said. His hand stroked through Viggo’s hair, down to his neck, and it was gone.

The door closed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The watcher stops watching.
> 
> The attempted rape and non-con drug use warnings up top? It's for this chapter. Be warned, please.

**Part III**

Viggo woke up cold.

He swung his arm out, looking for Sean on the bed, but he only felt cold sheets. Immediately, he jerked awake, sitting up. There was no sunlight coming in from the window -- it must still be the middle of the night, and he scrambled up, standing, eyes darting wildly around the room.

No Sean.

The house was absolutely silent. He barely remembered to grab a robe and slip it on before he was running out of the bedroom door. He checked the other rooms. No Sean. Down the stairs. No Sean in the living room, or the entrance hall, and his legs froze so suddenly Viggo nearly fell over.

There was a letter at the door. His breath hitched in his throat. At his side, his hand twitched, slowly clenching into a fist. No, not yet.

No Sean in the kitchen. Viggo slumped against the door leading out towards the gardens at the back of the house. No Sean in the gardens either. There was a part of his mind that was screaming incoherently at him, and Viggo could only press his hand hard against his eyes, trying to get it to shut up. He didn’t have the time to panic, not right now. There was really only one thing left to do. 

What choice was there left?

Deep breath in. Viggo resisted the urge to punch the brick wall; he would save the punch for later. He walked back calmly to the entrance hall and picked up the letter and tore it open.

Two photographs, and Viggo pressed his lips together when he realised that the bastard didn’t even bother to pretend they were Polaroids. No, these were well-developed photographs: one of himself and Sean at the coffee shop, standing around the table. Viggo pushed it away, and saw the second one.

The open window. Sean’s body, arched over Viggo’s own. Viggo lying down on the pillows, barely recognisable through the heavy black marks. The photograph was cut by a penknife, slicing his body into half from head to toe, as if he had been cleaved open by an axe. Viggo saw his hands tremble and he stumbled over to the couch, sinking down as he stared. It was a mistake, he thought distantly. They shouldn’t have taunted the bastard like this.

Now he had taken Sean. There was no doubt about that -- the bed was cold, and Sean would have left a note if he had left the house to go to the grocery store or something. Viggo clenched his hands tight to stop them from shaking, and he dropped the photographs on the table.

A note slipped out and landed on the floor. _  
_  
_THAT’S THE LAST TIME YOU WILL HAVE HIM. HE’S MINE NOW._

It was handwritten, the paper but a torn scrap. Someone was in a hurry, Viggo thought, and he laughed sharply to himself. His heart roared in his ears. The photograph wrinkled under his fingers, thick photo paper nearly tearing from sheer force. Lifting his eyes, Viggo looked at the house phone.

He would call Sean on his mobile, he thought. There wouldn’t be any use, and it would most likely be a waste of time, but it was something he needed to do anyhow. Twenty-four hours before making a missing person report, but Viggo has tangible evidence that this was a kidnapping case... he considered it, fingers tracing the railing of the coffee shop shown in the photograph.

Well, the bright side of this was that he was given yet another clue, and there was something tangible to pin the stalker down with right now. Viggo smiled grimly to himself before he stormed up the staircase.

Clothes. One step at a time. Sean was the planner of the two of them, but Viggo could always pretend to be someone who was much better at organisation than he was. All of his characters stayed with him, and he thought this time he might as well slip into the Master Chief’s skin.

At the very least, it would stave off the boiling panic. There was no use for that now.

*

Sean woke up with his head throbbing. He kept his eyes closed. The last thing he remembered was hearing a noise at the front door, opening it... and then nothing. This didn’t feel like his front porch -- for one thing, there was a bed underneath him. For another, he was naked.

For a third, he could feel that his hands were tied. And so were his ankles. Some kind of leather. He gave himself a few seconds to swear mentally at himself for his own stupidity. Maybe he should have woken Viggo up, or he should have called the police immediately... but Sean’s fear had been slowly morphing into anger the past few days, and now he might just be paying the price for that. Oh, goddamnit. No use thinking of ‘what-ifs’ now.

Neil Byrne and Andy McNab wouldn’t open their eyes, but Sean was neither of them and besides, he couldn’t even slip into those characters anyway, not after so long. Slowly, he blinked -- and he froze immediately. He stared at himself -- not in a mirror, but in photographs. Many, many photographs pinned onto the wall, some of them blown up. Photographs of _him_ \-- in a suit during premieres, in his various roles... but that weren’t what disturbed him. There were even more photographs of him through his bedroom window, half-naked or dressed only in a bathrobe. Photographs of him entering or exiting his own house. Photographs of him lighting at a cigarette at the coffee shop. Photographs of him in his various hairstyles throughout the years as he cut his hair for the sake of various roles.

His own face stared at him from the wall ahead, the wall at the side, and Sean had a distinct feeling that if he looked up, he would see his own face on the ceiling as well. Shuddering, he stared at the sheets instead -- and started when he realised the bed was of the exact same make as his own, back at home.

_Christ_.

Sean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Distantly, he felt his left arm ache, just so slightly. Well, that neatly answered his question of where the hell he was. Sean swore again, this time out loud, and he looked down at his wrists. It was a belt alright, and another belt around his ankles. He tested his bonds, trying to twist his hands out of the leather bindings, trying to turn his fingers around so he could reach the buckle of the belt. No luck as he expected, and he fell back, hissing out a breath.

The door was a few steps away. Sean looked at his ankles and wondered if he still had enough stamina to hop out of it, and he was almost going to try when he saw the doorknob move. The metal creaked, just so slightly.

Immediately, he dropped back onto the bed and closed his eyes. Tried to control his breathing so he looked like he was asleep -- but it was hard to when he felt as if he was near hyperventilating. His mind was entirely blanked out -- couldn’t even swear, and wasn’t that ironic? He had been trying to control his swearing, especially in front of the girls... no, he refused to think about his girls now. It must be stupid, to suspect that the stalker had any way of reading his thoughts, but Sean wasn’t going to take the chance.

Footsteps. Pretty heavy soles, those. He pretended to be asleep. The bed sank down on his right. Sean felt his breath hitch.

“Why don’t you open your eyes, Sean? I’ve wanted to introduce myself for so long.”

_Shit_.

*

If he was asked right at this moment what clothes he was wearing, Viggo wouldn’t be able to answer, not even if he looked at himself right now. It didn’t matter anyway -- he was wearing _some_ sort of clothing, and that was all he needed as he strode, almost ran, towards the coffee shop.

Viggo’s hands were shaking. He stared at them uncomprehendingly. There was a part of his mind that was freaking out, conjuring various possibilities of what could be happening to Sean right at this moment. His voice didn’t shake when he called the police. Why would his hands be trembling now?

Nothing would be happening to Sean, he told himself. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He tried to calm his breathing. No use hyperventilating. There was something he could do. Viggo looked at the photograph again, turning his eyes from it to the second level of the coffee shop, then back again.

Over there -- it was taken from over there. Just the awning of the place opposite. If this was the movie, then the audience would have recognised the place immediately -- and the girl standing there smoking as well. But this wasn’t a movie, and Viggo didn’t even look in that direction when he was here with Sean yesterday. This wasn’t a movie, and there wasn’t a chance that the girl would come over and take to him, and the audience would know immediately that they had found the stalker.

This was reality, and Viggo found it more terrifying than any horror movie could ever be. He closed his eyes and opened them again. He looked at his hands. They stilled. 

And he walked over to the girl.

“Hi,” he said, and tried to give her a bright smile, stamping down on that part of his head that was still screaming. “Sorry, but may I ask a question?”

The girl looked at him suspiciously, with narrowed eyes. “Yeah?” She cocked her head. “What is it?”

Viggo shoved the photograph into his pockets, patting all over himself. He found a lighter, and Sean’s pack of cigarettes -- he was wearing Sean’s jeans, he realised -- and his hands trembled slightly as he lit up.

“You work there, don’t you?” He made a vague wave towards the coffee shop. 

“Yeah?” Her eyes narrowed further. “Sorry, I’m not going to answer any questions about the celebrities who live around here, if that’s what you’re going for.”

“No,” Viggo shook his head hard. “No, that’s not it. Uh...” He shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out the photograph. “Look at this.”

She took the photograph and looked at it, at him, and at it again. “You’re in it,” she said. “What’s up?”

“My friend and me, yeah,” Viggo said. He rubbed the back of his neck and told the part in his head that shouted that he was wasting his time to shut the hell up. He was going to say something else, but she interrupted him.

“Hey, I think I recognise you,” she said, breaking into a cautious smile. “You were here yesterday, right? I remember because you and your friend went up to the second floor and came back down without buying anything. I thought it was odd.”

“Yeah,” Viggo said. “It’s a bit odd, what’s happening -- look, the photograph was taken yesterday, and it was delivered to S- to my friend’s house.”

“Uh... huh...” Frowning, she looked at the photograph again before she thrust it at Viggo. “So what’s the question?”

Viggo licked his lips. “I was just wondering if you’ve seen anyone around here at the time. Anyone with a camera, especially one with a long lens.”

“There’s plenty of people like that,” she replied wryly. “Tons of celebrities live in Belsize and they come for coffee all the time - don’t ask me who, I can’t recognise any of them really - and there are paparazzi who would buy cheap tea and sit there with camera for _hours_ with their cameras.”

“I don’t mean paparazzi,” Viggo said immediately. “I mean, uh, someone who comes here pretty often with a camera. Maybe someone who lives around here, and who, uh, who sits up there? You know, at the table that we’re standing around?”

“Look,” she said, sounding impatient and a little exasperated. “Why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on?”

He looked at her, wondering how he was going to tell anyone about the situation and not sound as if he was paranoid or insane. The situation seemed plenty insane enough to him. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, tapping the ash to send it flying downwards, and he saw that his hand was trembling again.

“Someone’s following me and my friend around,” he said finally, staring forward. “Now my friend’s gone missing and I’m trying to find him.”

Viggo felt her incredulous stare at him. He looked at her from the corner of his eyes as she took the last drag from her cigarette before she dropped it to the ground and ground it out.

“Look, don’t tell anyone I told you this, alright? I might get fired for it.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“I know who your friend is. I know who you are too,” she gave him a lopsided smile. “Hard not to, really, when your face was all over the place just two years ago. And my mom’s a big fan of Sharpe. Look.” She stared down at her hands. “There’s this man who comes here almost every day and he always sits at that particular table with his camera. He lives around here.”

She looked up and took a deep breath. “I just know him as Doctor Ethan. I have no idea what his last name is, but I know where he lives.”

Viggo felt something slam into him. He nearly stumbled forward. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his cigarette fall to the ground. Absentmindedly, he stamped it out.

“Where does he live?”

“Few blocks down the street from your friend,” she said. “You have paper? I’ll write it down for you.”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looked for something- but there was only the photograph. He took it out and turned it to its back. 

“This works?”

“Yeah.” She took the pen from her breast pocket and pulled off the cap with her teeth. Placing the paper on the brick wall behind her, she scribbled something on it. 

“I don’t actually know if this is the guy you’re looking for, but it’s worth a shot, at least,” she gave him back the photograph.

Viggo looked at it, and back to her. He swallowed. “Thank you--”

“Come look for me when I’m on break and I’ll get autographs from you both,” she cut him off, grinning. “Just don’t tell my boss I actually know who you are, because I’d get fired. Boss’s pretty strict about that.”

“Got it,” Viggo breathed. “ _Thank you_.”

She gave him another grin, but he didn’t see it, already turning away and running back down the street. 

*

Sean opened his eyes again. Third time of the day and it was still morning -- at least, he thought it was morning. He would look for the windows but his eyes were riveted to the man in front of him.

_Nice suit_ , the part of his brain that was still working noted. It was a nice suit indeed, a full tuxedo, clearly tailored. The man was obviously dressed to impress, and Sean had a sinking feeling why -- though he wondered what kind of mind would think of this as a good first impression when Sean already had... He swallowed and tried to not move too much.

“Hi,” the man said. “I’m Ethan. I’m your neighbour.”

At the moment, Sean hated Viggo being right. It wasn’t just the suit and the words -- both were easy enough to fake -- but the _accent_. Ethan-his-stalker spoke with a perfect, crisp Received Pronunciation accent. Sean’s hands twitched slightly.

“Hi,” he said. Humour the crazy, he thought to himself, a little wild and mad himself. Humour him until... until Sean could find a way out of here. His eyes started over to the side -- the windows were covered by curtains. Maybe they could open. Maybe if he ran for it, he could jump out of it... Sean licked his lips.

“Sorry, this is a little bit inconvenient,” he said, motioning to his wrists and ankles. All of his acting training came into good use now, keeping his voice steady and his eyes on the bastard in front of him. He wondered what his coaches would say about that, but he figured it didn’t matter -- not when the techniques didn’t seem to work perfectly anyway: his hands were still shaking, and his breath was coming a little bit too fast to pass as calm.

He took a deep breath and raised his arms just a little more. “You mind taking ‘em off?”

His stalker grasped his tied wrists with both hands, lifting them to his lips. Sean shivered at the feel of them on his skin, and barely resisted the urge to yank his hands back when he felt tongue. 

Humour the bastard, he told himself faintly. Humour him, humour him...

“You look so beautiful with these on,” said bastard murmured, fingers turning Sean’s tied hands over. They stroked over the inside of his wrist, and Sean couldn’t take it anymore. He threw himself forward, drawing his hands back for a punch--

The mattress was against his back. There was a hand on his throat, and his breath entirely knocked out of him. Sean tried to buck up, to shove him away, but he was pressed down again, now choking as he tried to breathe through the arm strangling his windpipe.

“I always known you’re beautiful when you fight. I’ve watched your fight scenes so many times, and I’ve always dreamed...” The hand stroked down Sean’s naked side, smooth skin without a single callus against his own. Sean’s eyes watered as he tried to squirm away from the touch and breathe at the same time. 

The stalker leaned in, so close his breath was like fingers sliding over Sean’s skin, “I’ve dreamed of seeing you like this, fighting without any clothes to block the sight of you. Dreamt of touching you.”

_Get off me, get off me!_

Sean could suddenly breathe. He reared upwards, but he was shoved down again with a hand on his chest. There was nothing more he wanted now than to be a real soldier or warrior instead of only acting those roles. He knew he was strong enough for most things, but he had no real idea how to fight beyond choreographed acts. 

“You must have a headache,” he heard the bastard say. Sean forced open his eyes again, and there was a bottle of water in his face. Where the hell did it come from, he thought inanely, and gulped for breath. “Come on, this will make it all the better.”

_Oh, hell no_. Sean clamped his mouth shut, but the man moved forward until he was straddling his chest, pressing down with the whole of his weight. He couldn’t breathe again but he kept his mouth shut, eyes burning holes in the bastard’s skin. There was nothing more that Sean wanted right at this moment to be able to set things on fire with just a single look.

“It’ll be good for you.”

His nose was pinched shut. His head throbbed. He kept his mouth closed, eyes watering, his jaw aching. There were black spots appearing in front of his eyes but he would be damned if he opened his mouth. He would faint first-- but he couldn’t stop himself. Not when his body was screaming for oxygen.

Sean opened his mouth. 

Water poured in and he choked on it, trying to spit it all out, but the hand moved from his nose to his throat, stroking it slightly. The water tasted like water but somehow- somehow it didn’t seem likely that it was all it was. His mind screamed that this wasn’t water at all and he shouldn’t drink it down. His body disobeyed. Water rushed down his throat, weight lifted off his chest and Sean turned immediately, retching, trying to throw it all up.

Nothing came up except saliva. Sean tried not to shake.

“There. Feels better, doesn’t it?”

He looked up. It was the headache and lack of air that made his head spin, he told himself. Whatever that was in the water couldn’t have worked so fast. But his tongue felt heavy, like lead in his mouth, and when the bastard pushed him down again, he could barely fight it.

“Have some more.”

Water again. Drowning. He felt like he was drowning.

*

Viggo looked down to the address he had, scribbled on the back of the photograph. There was irony here but he wasn’t of the mind to understand it. He might be too late, his mind told him. He knew he should have woken up earlier. He should have realised Sean hadn’t returned to bed much faster. No use thinking about that now. 

Right now, all he could do was run.

*

“You’re silly, Sean.”

Sean panted, his head bowed down. There was sweat breaking out all over his body. He was hyper-aware of the feeling of wetness between his thighs, of the way his skin seemed to slide easily. His throat burned. He stared down at his arms, and-- there was a bandage at the crook of his elbow that wasn’t there before. 

“I wasn’t trying to drug you using the water. Silly, Sean, so very, very silly.”

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe not because of a weight on his chest or his throat.

“I gave you your medicine long ago. Before you even woke up, in fact. I’m a doctor, you know?”

It felt as if he was drunk. Like he had spent the whole night drinking. Or maybe the adrenaline was fading and he had felt like this since he had woken up. Sean felt himself being rolled over to his bed. His eyes fell shut and he felt his legs being pulled open. He tried to struggle, but it was like moving through quicksand. His breathing had calmed down-- so much that he didn’t seemed to be getting enough air at all.

He felt like going back to sleep.

There was a hand on his calf, stroking downwards. Sean struggled and tried to open his eyes -- it seemed he succeeded, but his vision was just a blur. There were only shapes around him, and his mind was getting oddly blurry.

His lips formed a name, but the sound didn’t get out.

“Shhhh,” he heard, a soft voice in his ear. “Everything is alright now.”

*

Viggo stopped running, panting hard, dragging a hand through his hair. He stared at the number of the house and checked it against the scribbled address. This was the right one -- at least, he corrected himself, this was what the girl had given him. 

Something in himself told him he should have called the police and waited at home for them to do their job. It was the sensible part of him, but it had really arrived too late. If he had been sensible yesterday night and closed the damned curtains, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Viggo took a deep breath and calmed his breathing.

It would be breaking and entering to try the door, he told himself. Someone would call the police on him. But at this point Viggo knew that he was desperate to try anything, and his instincts told him that this was the right place -- maybe it was his instincts, or maybe it was just his desperation speaking because if this was wrong he wouldn’t know what else to do.

The gate was unlocked. Alright, that was one step forward. Viggo tried to pretend that he had the perfect right to be entering this house. Master Chief, right? He slipped on the soldier’s mantle again, straightening his shoulders and striding forward, counting his steps. His hand closed around the doorknob. He turned it.

The door was unlocked. Everything seemed to be going a little bit too well. If this was a movie, Viggo thought mildly hysterically, the gate and door would be unlocked, and Viggo would find some previously unknown ability to pick locks. But this wasn’t a movie, and he had never once played a thief. Viggo pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Silence-- wait. Upstairs. There was a soft voice upstairs.

Toeing off his shoes, he spared a single glance of surprise at the socks he had managed to remember to wear. Viggo took another deep breath and started creeping towards the stairs, and instead of a righteous rescuer, he felt like a thief.

He really hoped Sean was here.

*

No, everything was not alright. Sean knew he was drugged. The bandage on his elbow. That should have alerted him, shouldn’t it?

His mind was moving at the speed of molasses. Everything seemed to come to him in slow motion. The hand on his calf had turned into two, and he felt the belt on his ankles being taken off. There was the sound of leather against leather. His hearing seemed to be coming faster to him than his sight. Sean still couldn’t see anything.

Ankles freed. He was supposed to be doing something about that, he knew. What it was, he couldn’t tell. Not at this moment. Sean fought harder against the fog in his mind, somehow knowing that it was important. That he needed to.

The hands slid up, smooth skin against his thighs and it felt wrong, incredibly wrong. They were too large to be a woman’s, yet they were too smooth to be... to be Viggo’s. Sean’s eyes blinked open slowly, and he clutched onto the name, held onto it tight inside him. There was no use trying to focus his eyes, but he remembered what he was supposed to do. His ankles were freed.

“You’re so beautiful, Sean,” a man crooned above him. The voice was wrong.

Sean surged up, throwing all of his strength upwards. He kicked out his legs, feeling them connect with something, and did it again, and again, trying to sit up while flailing like an untamed horse. Hands grabbed at him but he shoved them away, managing to pull himself up. The sheets were too smooth for him to grip onto with his skin, but it was useless for him to. His back hit the mattress again, all the air knocked out of him. The fog thickened.

In the distance, as if underwater, he heard the door open. It wasn’t the man, wasn’t Ethan, wasn’t his bastard of a stalker because a body was draping over him, his chest just above his legs, hands trying to pin him down. Sean threw his entire body forward as much as he could, slamming his forehead against something -- it felt like a nose, maybe -- and his knee lashed outwards, slamming into a stomach, or a chest. A grunt filled his ears.

He could breathe again.

“Sean!”

That was a familiar voice.

*

Viggo didn’t know what he was expecting when he stepped into the room. Maybe Sean sitting and having tea, or a stranger sleeping without any sign of Sean. But he could recognise the hint of blond hair and those legs anywhere, and Viggo was already moving without thought. His hand grabbed hold of the collar of the stranger’s shirt, and he was just close enough to see Sean’s knee connect with the man’s ribs.

He dragged the man away from him. There was some kind of shouting, but Viggo wasn’t paying any particular attention. The bastard -- his name was Ethan, the sensible part of himself supplied, but Viggo ignored it -- was holding onto his nose, which looked red. He threw his hand out, punching that nose, feeling cartilage and bone crack from beneath his fist. 

There was blood on his knuckles. Viggo looked at his hand for the briefest of moments before he shoved the bastard away. Sean was curled up in the bed, wrists tied together with a belt, but Viggo only barely noticed that. No, his eyes were fixated on Sean’s eyes, on the strange, glazed look in them. Sean’s lips were completely white, and his breathing was shallow.

Viggo liked to believe he wasn’t a violent man, that he detested violence in all forms. But right now, looking from Sean to the bastard who was holding his nose with one hand and his ribs with the other, there was nothing more that he wanted than to continue beating the latter. He took a deep breath, sitting down onto the bed and placing a hand on Sean’s face. His calluses rubbed against the slight, overnight stubble of Sean’s cheek.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Sean shifted slightly, turning towards him. His eyes rolled around their sockets in an obvious attempt to focus, and Viggo felt sick, all of a sudden.

“Vig?” Sean said, his voice sounding odd. The word was dragged out, slurred, and Viggo spared another glance for the bastard, as if daring him to move.

“Yeah.”

There were footsteps coming. Viggo shifted on the bed, starting to turn towards the door- but there was a body that was slamming into him. Thrown onto the bed, Viggo gasped, and he felt his neck burn. His shirt tore, ripped apart by desperate hands, and he tried to focus his eyes on the man who was trying to strangle him by the collar of his own shirt.

“He’s mine,” Doctor Ethan growled. His face was crazed, and there was blood from his nose that was dripping onto Viggo’s skin. “He’s mine, you’re not going to have him again. He’s mine!”

Viggo struggled. A little voice in his head told him that he should have gotten actual fight training at some point in his life, because there was no choreography in this, only desperation, and he felt like a turtle turned on its back, flailing uselessly around without being able to turn himself over, much less throw the other man off him. He choked slightly as a hand twisted on his collar, cutting all of his air. Head spinning, he tried to throw a punch, but it went entirely sideways.

_Shit_ , he thought, and he would have laughed at how inadequate the word was for the situation if there weren’t black spots appearing in front of his eyes.

Then the pressure eased. Viggo pushed himself up immediately, blinking, and he watched as Sean pull his stalker up by the back of his collar, his teeth gritted.

“I don’t belong to you, you bastard,” Sean growled. His eyes were focused for but another second before they glazed over, but Viggo didn’t take the time to watch as Sean fell over again. Instead, he grabbed onto something, anything, and his hands closed around a belt that was left abandoned on the bed. Holding onto the buckle, he threw it outwards like a whip, slapping Ethan on the face before he leaped at him.

The footsteps were getting louder. Viggo’s entire weight threw Ethan down until he was pinned onto the floor, the belt slammed down onto the wood, stretched over the other man’s throat.

“This is the police, freeze!” 

Wasn’t it just like a damned movie when the police arrived too late to do anything? Viggo watched as the two officers standing at the door took in Sean’s unconscious, naked form on the bed, Viggo’s torn shirt, and Ethan’s bloodied, broken nose. He took a deep breath, and forced the stalker down with his knee.

“We’re here for a reported break-in,” the officer on the left said. He looked rather uncertain, his eyes continuously flickering between Viggo and Sean’s form on the bed. 

Viggo blinked. He laughed -- so Master Chief didn’t manage to fool anyone after all. “Yeah, that was me, but officers.” He shoved the knee down harder, looking down to place it right above Ethan’s throat, silencing all sound.

“Right now, I want to report a kidnapping,” he looked at Sean, “an unlawful misuse of drugs, and a possible case of attempted rape.”

Well, Viggo thought as he was eventually handcuffed and dragged off the stalker. That wasn’t that bad. It was improvised, but it sounded like a screenwriter could have written it. 

But Sean was still lying there. Viggo stumbled over him, uncaring of the eyes on them, and shifted around so he blocked the most compromising bits of Sean’s nakedness with his own body.

“Hey,” he said. The cuffs around his hands made it difficult, but he managed to stroke his fingers gently through Sean’s hair anyway. “You alright?”

Sean’s head turned up, looking for him. “What...” he slurred.

“Police are here. Well, to arrest me really, but whatever works.” He dropped down on his knees beside the bed. Sean made a soft sound, and Viggo decided it was a chuckle.

“Can you try to stay awake for me?” His fingers found the lump at the side of Sean’s head, and he steadied his hand so it wouldn’t shake.

Sean looked at him, frowning slightly as if he couldn’t hear him. Viggo held his breath. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the two police officers standing behind him, their eyes boring onto his back.

“Will try,” Sean rasped finally. His eyes fell half-closed, and Viggo let out a breath. Impulsively, he leaned in, brushing his lips against Sean’s temple. He looked around him, and grabbed the nearest blanket and draped it over Sean’s body.

There was an ambulance coming for Sean, that much he knew. It was a small comfort, and he held onto the thought tightly as he was tossed into the police car.

***

“You know what I really want to do right now?”

Viggo looked up from where he was thumbing through a magazine at Sean. Even lounging in a hospital bed in hospital-issued clothes, he still looked gorgeous. Despite the frown that was creasing his eyes. Viggo raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side.

“I want to go home.”

They had been through this conversation before. Viggo chuckled softly, putting his magazine down.

“Think of it this way. You’re keeping me company while people decide if they want to deport me.”

Sean snorted. He looked through the pile of magazines that Viggo had filched from the hospital’s various waiting rooms and lounges before he pushed them all away in disgust. 

“You think he’d press charges?”

“Probably,” Viggo shrugged. “It’s not like I can deny being in his house.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there to commit an offence, you’re there to stop one being committed,” Sean pointed out. He paused, and shuddered hard.

“Hey,” Viggo said, reaching out to place a hand on Sean’s. “You alright?”

“You’ve asked me that ten times already,” Sean shot him a half-frustrated, half-amused look. “I’m fine. Scared out of me wits at some point, aye, but I don’t remember any of it right now.” He frowned, looking disturbed. “That’s probably the drugs.”

Viggo looked around them. They had a private room -- which, given how well-known both of them were and what had just happened, was entirely necessary -- and Viggo stopped caring about the unlocked door. He climbed into bed next to Sean, drawing his arms around him and holding him close. 

“You were probably far more scared than I was,” Sean murmured. 

“I didn’t have a lot of time to be scared,” Viggo replied honestly, his voice muffled by Sean’s shoulder. “Spent most of it running all over the place trying to find you.”

“Didn’t think to ask until now, but how _did_ you find me?”

Viggo lifted his head up, grinning. “We owe a girl at the coffee shop you used to go to a couple of autographs during her break.”

Sean barked a laugh. “I’d give her more than that, since she helped you find me.” His hand stroked Viggo’s chin. There was two day’s worth of stubble gathered on it now, but Viggo ignored it. He could always shave later. Now, he turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to Sean’s palm.

“You know, if we press charges, no one will be able to stop the media from finding out about us.” He lifted his eyes and looked at Sean for a long, solemn moment. “You alright with that?”

“I ain’t letting him get off scot free and coming near me again,” Sean snorted. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to Viggo’s. “I’ve been meaning to ask this anyway, but do you want to come with me to India for _Sharpe_?”

There were miles worth of unspoken words hidden in those questions, and Viggo heard them. He knew how important _Sharpe_ was to Sean; knew that _Sharpe_ was the crux of his career, the very basis of his reputation.

“You’re not afraid of your reputation?” He grinned. “I have nothing to fear, really, because I’ve been kissing men since the _Fellowship_ premieres.”

“Don’t remind me of that,” Sean mock-growled. “You were kissing everyone and taking pictures with everyone except me.”

“Well, you were too busy having your love affair with orcs,” Viggo shot back. They looked at each other for a moment before they laughed. Viggo turned his head, pressing a soft kiss against Sean’s temple, barely inches away from the small bump that was rapidly receding.

“That was a serious question, you know,” he murmured.

“Me first real movie job was as Ranuccio,” Sean chuckled. “If people didn’t figure something out about that, then they’re the idiots, not me.”

Viggo pulled away. There were no bruises on Sean, and even though there was a part of him that was immensely relieved, the bigger part was disturbed -- that something like this could happen and not leave any marks whatsoever. Except... here, there were some leather burns and small cuts and bruises on Sean’s wrists. Taking Sean’s hand in his own, he lifted it up and pressed a soft kiss to the bandages on his wrists.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I’ll come to India with you.”

_End_


End file.
